


Dark Chocolate

by mister_otter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Humor, Romance, Snark, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-12
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-12 02:30:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1180860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mister_otter/pseuds/mister_otter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco Malfoy, seller of fine (and very unusual) chocolate, has a last minute customer on Valentine’s night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dark Chocolate

The goblin’s eyes glowed red with firelight and greed as he exited the Floo of a tiny shop in a forgotten corner of Edinburgh.

“I’ve come for your deposit,” he said, clicking his heels and sketching a small bow.

Draco Malfoy turned from the fire whiskey he’d been pouring to snap shut the lid on a small, iron-bound chest brimming with Galleons.

“Impressive haul for a mere two weeks of work,” Draco told the goblin, crossing the room and placing the chest in his hands.

The goblin’s eyes glittered but he made no reply. Commerce didn’t interest him—only its results.

“Straight to the Malfoy vaults then, Grimdower,” Draco said.

“Done before midnight.” Stepping backward with a grin, Grimdower disappeared the way he had come, in a flash of flame, powder, and green sparks.

“Efficient as hell. And twice as nasty,” Draco muttered, saluting the empty fireplace and glancing at the clock on the wall. Twenty minutes until midnight. Twenty minutes until yet another damnable, unavoidable Valentine’s Day would be done. Romantic love was a myth and the Fates, it seemed, were bitches. They’d decreed that Draco’s least favorite time of year was also his most profitable.

Draco looked around the small shop, his mind on the chest of Galleons. Every bit he earned helped to replenish the Malfoy coffers, sadly depleted by the huge sums his family had paid out in reparations following the war. Witches and wizards imprisoned at the Manor during Voldemort’s reign of terror had benefitted handsomely from the Malfoy’s punishment.

It was for this reason that, once a year, Draco Malfoy became a shopkeeper, a seller of fine chocolates. But not just any chocolates. Expensive and exquisite, his were laced with a powerful love potion crafted from dark magic—and highly illegal.

Each year, Draco opened his exclusive little shop for exactly fourteen days—February first through the end of Valentine’s Day—but never twice in the same location. Last year he had set up shop in Paris, the year before, in Bratislava. The city really didn’t matter. His chocolates had a reputation and people from all over the globe managed to find him. The authorities, however, never did.

Now Draco sat sipping his fire whiskey and counting down the minutes in French in honor of last year’s spectacular haul.

Minuit moins quart… moins treize… moins dix… He always kept his shop open until midnight so that anyone wrestling with last-minute qualms about using dark magic would have time to give in. It never failed that some lovesick fool did.

At five minutes before the hour Draco stood, abandoning his glass in favor of his wand. Time to magick his wares back to the hidden storage vaults beneath Malfoy Manor. In less than an hour, this tiny, abandoned building would be as empty as it had been two weeks ago.

But before he could begin his last bit of work for the night, a light rapping sounded at the door. The series of sharp tap-tap-taps repeated once, followed by an eerie silence.

Swearing with annoyance Draco crossed the room, making sure to compose his features before yanking open the door. It wouldn’t do to let a potential customer see how impatient he was to end this lovers’ holiday.

Outside, a misty fog worthy of Jack the Ripper’s gaslit London curled over the darkly twisting streets. Above the door, Draco’s lone lamp—pale green and fashioned in the shape of a serpentine dragon—still burned. In the dim light he could just make out a grey figure, cloaked and hooded, disappearing into the fog.

“Wait!” Draco called. “There’s still time to make a purchase. I’ve not closed the shop yet.”

The figure hesitated. It stood perfectly still for a moment, then turned slowly toward him, sending the oddest little ripple of fear pulsing up his spine. With the sharp click of heels on cobblestone, the figure approached, whisking back the hood as it walked to reveal a familiar face.

Droplets of mist gathered on springy hair and, “Hermione Granger,” Draco hissed.

“Good evening, Malfoy.”

Bloody hell. Caught out after all. “Come to investigate me on behalf of the Ministry, have you?” he snapped.

“I can’t imagine why you would think that, Malfoy.” Hermione’s lips curved in a small, amused smile. “Unless you are up to something highly suspicious? Perhaps even something… shall we say… illegal?”

“Don’t be disingenuous, Granger. It doesn’t suit you. I’ll wager you know exactly what type of business this is. And if you’ve not come to sniff around for the Ministry, then why are you here?”

“To shop, of course. Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

“It’s midnight. We’re closed.”

“Hmm. Not two minutes ago, you called out to me that there was still time to make a purchase. Perhaps now that you know it’s me, you think I couldn’t afford the type of wares you peddle? Let me assure you that I can.”

Draco had often wondered how Granger would spend her share of the reparations money from the Malfoy fortune. He had a feeling he was about to find out. Shoving the door wide, he stood aside and allowed her to enter the shop.

Hermione removed her cloak and laid it across the back of a chair near the fireplace. Underneath, she wore a soft red dress, belted snugly to accentuate her small waist, and tall, black boots. Face alight with curiosity, she gazed around her at the beautifully wrapped boxes, gift baskets, and candy dishes, all of which held a fair amount of Draco’s sumptuous, magical chocolate.

While she browsed, Draco poured another fire whiskey, perched himself on the edge of the desk, and began to craft a chain out of paper clips, pretending not to notice the undulating curve of her bum as she moved among the display of goods.

“So, Malfoy,” she spoke over her shoulder. “Give me your best spiel.”

“Pardon?”

“Surely you have some clever little speech that you use to convince customers to buy your product?”

“Actually, I don’t. The stuff pretty much sells itself.”

Hermione lifted a glossy brown box tied with a shimmery, hot-pink bow. “But surely there’s something you tell the customers. Why, for instance, should I purchase this,” she waggled the box at him, “rather than the love potion-laced sweets George Weasley sells in Diagon Alley?”

“Because…,” Draco dropped his paper clip chain and moved toward her. “What you can buy in Weasley’s shop is an all-in-fun, playful kind of love potion that wears off in a week or so. Mine is for, shall we say—connoisseurs. It’s serious dark chocolate imported from South America via New Orleans. The darker the chocolate, the more powerful the love spell. The more… binding.”

“Darker, as in dark magic?” Hermione looked up at him through her lashes.

“You work for the Ministry, Granger. Surely you don’t expect me to come right out and say it?”

“I work in the Department of Mysteries, not Magical Law Enforcement. But no matter—I’m not here to quibble. And legalities aren’t something I’m concerned with tonight.”

Her tone made him take a step closer, look at her harder. “Why are you here, Hermione? Is this a last, desperate attempt to get your little Gingerhead boy back again?” he jibed.

The words were deliberately cruel. At the moment, Granger was intriguing the hell out of him by prowling around his shop in a Valentine red dress and sleek, black boots. Mockery seemed a sure way to shake her into spilling a secret or two.

It worked. Her chin lifted. “If you must know, Malfoy, when I left Hogwarts I had a bit of an outline for my life—a fifteen-year plan, if you will. A successful career, marriage by no later than thirty, a child by no later than thirty-three.”

“And?”

“The career is going well.” She toyed with another package, silver stamped with golden hearts. “But I’ll be thirty next autumn. And I’m not dating anyone.”

“You can’t seriously be considering using a love potion to attract a potential mate.” Draco’s tone was incredulous.

Hermione lifted her chin. “I don’t see why not. It seems a sensible, logical thing to do. Because I’ve decided I don’t believe in romantic love. It simply doesn’t exist.” Her eyes glinted in the light thrown by the fire. “But I happen to know that magic is quite real.”

Draco merely stared, too shocked to respond to what he’d just learned. The idealistic Gryffindor goddess was as unexpectedly cynical about romance as he was. And as he knew very well, commonality held a power that could not be denied.

“For like calls to like, deep unto deep, and darkness shows the stars…” It was part of the incantation bound into his magical chocolate and part of what made it work—the ability of the dark spell to seek out those things two people had in common and use them as binding points. Unconsciously, Draco shivered.

“I thought I was in love with Ron,” Hermione suddenly spoke, the soft tone of her voice telling Draco he was about to receive a confidence. “But once he became a professional Quidditch player, there was an endless stream of twitter-brained bints lining up at his bedroom door.” She gave a small, bitter laugh. “Naturally, he took full advantage.”

A look of hurt crossed her face and all of a sudden, she seemed small and vulnerable. Draco felt the oddest compulsion to pull her into his arms and just… hold her.

“Later I was engaged to Anthony Goldstein,” she continued with a sad little smile. “But it seems he only wanted me for my mind. Anthony is quite the entrepreneur. I was his fiancée who doubled as research assistant. Emphasis on ‘assistant.’ Less so on ‘fiancée.’”

“Granger, why are telling me all this?”

Hermione sighed. “My tongue is a bit loose tonight, isn’t it? I confess to having had several shots of Firewhisky before coming here. To get my courage up.”

“Since when does a Gryffindor war heroine need alcohol for courage?”

“Since when does a Malfoy playboy spend Valentine’s night working alone?”

“Touché.” Draco drained his glass and set it on the desk. “For your information, I always spend Valentine’s night alone. It’s a personal tradition.”

“But why?”

“Because it’s a sappy, syrupy, and altogether stupid holiday. No fat little cherub is going to whisk in bringing hearts, flowers, and true love forever. One might as well wait for jolly old St. Nicholas to come calling with a sleigh full of sex toys.” Hermione chuckled softly and Draco continued. “It’s true that I could find a willing witch to spend the night in my bed. But because of the day, I’d have to make some sort of showing—offer one perfect rose or some other nonsense. It seems obscene to pretend something exists when it doesn’t.”

“Then why not use some of your own chocolate?”

Draco’s answer was a short bark of mirthless laughter. “I told you earlier, this isn’t some silly, schoolgirl love potion. I’ve been selling this chocolate for years and I know the power of what it can do. The witch or wizard who buys it had better be damned certain they can handle the consequences.”

“Consequences… from a dark magic love spell?”

Draco grinned wickedly and ignored her question. “Firewhisky?” he asked, pouring another glass for himself and adding a splash to a second tumbler.

“Please.” Hermione reached out, her hand brushing his as she took the glass he offered.

Their eyes met and Draco felt another shiver, a tingle of fear-yet-not-fear, of like recognizing like. Hermione’s bemused expression told him he wasn’t alone in the experience.

“So,” she asked, taking in his black jacket, crisp white shirt, and grey-on-grey patterned tie. “No date waiting for you for a midnight dinner?”

“No. Planning to do what I do every Valentine’s Day. Drink until I can’t remember what the fuck day it is and go to bed alone. But promise me you won’t tell any of my friends—they’d mock me ‘til I bled if they knew.”

Hermione smiled. “They probably would at that, since you’re the perennial bachelor of the group. Why haven’t you married yet, Draco? Your parents must be longing for the next Malfoy heir.”

“To inherit what, exactly? There’s precious little of the Malfoy fortune left.” Draco sounded more resigned than bitter. “When first Pansy and then Astoria realized there wasn’t much money to be had, I ended up with two broken engagements. Pansy didn’t matter so much. Astoria was… harder to take.”

“I’m sorry, Draco.”

“Don’t be. I’m better off alone. Besides, the family name may be tainted in the wizarding world in general, but in certain circles it still has a mystique. There’s a rumor being put about that I’m rather good in bed.”

“Hmph. Now who’s the one with the loose tongue?” Hermione teased. “So tell me, Malfoy, is your reputation in bed deserved?” The tone was still teasing but something glittered in the depths of Hermione’s eyes—no more than a flash, quickly gone, leaving Draco suddenly wishing that what he’d seen was burning curiosity longing to be satisfied.

“No one has ever complained. But why would they?” He shrugged, “Just like my chocolate, a one-off is not the sort of thing that can be turned in for a refund.”

Hermione laughed out loud. “So, let’s see if I have this right. You don’t like Valentine’s Day. You don’t believe in true love. Yet you profit from foolish people who do. Did you ever stop to think how ironic that is?

“All the time.’ He raised an eyebrow. “But no more so than that ironically-colored, Valentine-red dress you’re wearing.”

Hermione clinked her glass triumphantly against his. “To the absurd, then. And those astute enough to recognize it when they see it.”

“Quite the little cynic for a Gryffindor, aren’t you?”

“Only when it comes to romance. Is this Firewhisky going to make us maudlin, do you think?

“It suppose it could. Would you like more?”

“Please.” She held out her glass.

“To letting the past be the past, then?” Draco asked.

Once again, their glasses touched. “To getting drunk enough to forget the past. As well as today’s date.” She hiccoughed softly and then giggled. “Do you know what I’d really like, Malfoy? I’d like to taste your chocolate. Do you offer samples to potential customers?”

Draco allowed his gaze to shift toward his desk. At its back edge sat an elegant candy dish, fashioned in the shape of a black swan floating on a pool of moonstone. Several small, neatly cut chocolate squares were arranged on the jeweled surface.

Tracking the direction of his gaze, Hermione started toward the table.

“Granger… wait,” Draco spoke. He couldn’t let her do this without a last warning. “You need to be aware—my chocolate really is laced with dark magic. If you eat it, and then share it with your intended… umm...”

“Victim?” Hermione supplied helpfully.

“I was going to say ‘partner.’ For it to work best, two people have to partake. When they do, both will fall under the sway of a very powerful, ancient love spell. Outcomes are unpredictable at best.”

Hermione’s eyes sparkled with curiosity and interest. Suddenly she seemed far less inebriated than he’d thought.

“So, Malfoy. You just admitted to me that your chocolate is created with dark magic, making it quite illegal.”

That wasn’t all he’d been admitting, but it seemed to be the part she’d chosen to focus on. Draco cursed his wagging, Firewhisky-loosened tongue. What had he just done? What if Granger really was here on behalf of the Ministry, and the whole evening had been nothing but a clever ruse meant to catch him out, peddling a forbidden substance?

But Hermione merely laughed and popped a square of chocolate into her mouth. “My god, Malfoy.” She closed her eyes, savoring. “This is delicious. Dark and rich as sin, spiked with just a hint of … lust.”

Draco laughed out loud. “I’ve never heard a better description.” He leaned toward her, watching her closely. “Since we’re being candid this evening, who’s the wizard that will be sharing your purchase, if you decide to make one?”

“Truthfully? I’ve no one in mind. But I’ve known about your magical, moving shop for several years now and tonight, I wanted an adventure. I’ve done quite a bit of research into dark magic love potions and I admit to being curious.”

Draco watched Hermione lick the last bit of chocolate from her lip, his eyes roaming over the soft curves of her mouth, her cheek, her hips. It took only a moment for the spark to catch, an instant for Draco to act on it. If she wanted an adventure, he was willing to oblige.

Reaching out, he tugged one of her curls, then drew her into his arms. “What do you imagine would happen,” he murmured, his voice low and suggestive, “if we kissed?”

Hermione leaned back in the circle of his arms and looked into his eyes. “I imagine… that you would taste of Firewhisky. And reek of arrogance.”

“Those two are a given. Think again, Hermione. Is that really all?”

“No. Underneath that rich, warm whisky taste, I imagine I would find just a hint of the magical chocolate you ate before I came into your shop. You see, I always pay attention to details.” She smiled up at him. “And I couldn’t help noticing a smidgen of chocolate just below your bottom lip.”

“You knew… and yet you ate a portion anyway. You are either the ballsiest witch in the history of Gryffindor or a totally mis-sorted Slytherin.” Draco’s lips curved in a small smirk. “But what you didn’t know is that the chocolate you snagged wasn’t meant for customers. It’s from my private, black-label stash that I never share with anyone.”

“Until tonight.” Hermione gave a small smirk of her own. She ran her hands across Draco’s shoulders, then lightly grazed her nails along the back of his neck. Her touch and the look in her eyes made him long to throw her over his shoulder and Apparate straight into bed.

Standing on tiptoe, she put her mouth against his ear. “And now, I’d like you to kiss me so I can experience all of those things I was imagining before.”

“Even the arrogance?” He managed to chuckle. The tickle of her breath, the touch of her hands, the heat of her body melded with the magic arcing along his nerve endings until Draco felt he was vibrating with anticipation and desire.

“All of it,” Hermione whispered. “All of you, Draco. Dark. Light. And everything in between.”

Draco covered her mouth with his. The kiss that ensued caused the fire in the grate to flame red hot. Like called to like, the deeps of the earth moved, and a future dynasty of successful chocolate sellers was founded.

In later years, when their grandchildren asked about the family’s chocolate empire and Draco and Hermione’s own long, happy marriage, they were able to attribute it to three things: Draco’s business acumen, Hermione’s skill at research, and a shared love of Valentine’s Day, their favorite holiday of the year.

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many thanks to my brilliant and beautiful beta, eilonwy! Having you for a beta makes me as smug as a Malfoy!  
> Originally posted as part of the 2013 dramionelove Valentine's fest.


End file.
